She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror

And watched as the creeping vine of her despair 

strangled her with sadness 

The absence of things--everything--wailed

As despair crept upon her 

like silk and cyanide

Oh, if only she could clutch that golden ring--then she would be happy

She would no longer be trodding 

In this sewer of an existence

In which all her dreams had drowned 

In the fecal remains of hope

She yearned for the ring

And despaired of getting it

So few did

And then, as she was perusing her old favorite children’s book 

she came upon a line that struck a match in her dark soul

“What day is it?” asked Pooh.

“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.

“My favorite day,” said Pooh.

She started gift wrapping each day with dandelion yellow flowers

Instead of despairing about her creeping vine 

she concentrated on how to make it burst with blooms

She remembered how Jesus had multiplied 

one basket of loaves and fishes into a meal for thousands

And tried turning her pain into beauty

For there is a crack in everything

That’s where the light gets in